


What They Want to Believe

by I_prefer_the_term_antihero



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: 3rd person, Angst, Comedy, During Canon, Episode: s03e01-02 Rapunzel's Return, Family, Family Feels, Family Issues, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Internal Monologue, Nightmares, Present Tense, RTA, Slow Burn, TTS, Tangled the series - Freeform, Tragedy/Comedy, Varian Angst (Disney), Varian Redemption (Disney), rapunzel's tangled adventure - Freeform, tangled
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_prefer_the_term_antihero/pseuds/I_prefer_the_term_antihero
Summary: Varian got his redemption in "Rapunzel's Return"…yet he still feels like a villain, and still needs forgiveness...even if it’s just his own. ||Quirin has to find out what Varian did eventually.Varian also has to find out what Quirin did; who the brotherhood is, and why he's not a part of them anymore.The past, dreams, and reality, blend together more than people think.
Relationships: Andrew | Hubert & Varian (Disney: Tangled), Cassandra & Varian (Disney: Tangled), Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider & Varian, Quirin & Varian (Disney), Rapunzel & Varian (Disney)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 128





	1. Hungry Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I know this idea has probably been done by someone, or perhaps many others...but I have yet to read them, and I've really wanted to write a Varian fic for a while, and this was something I thought would be really fun to expand upon (and I've really enjoyed writing it so far)!!
> 
> This chapter is supposed to take place immediately after S3 E1-2: Rapunzel's Return.
> 
> Also, I messed with the indentation of this fic, so it's best to read on your computer (or just a larger-sized screen)!!! You can always hit "hide creator's style" to make it look normal on your phone, though.
> 
> This one's for all those who like Varian’s canon redemption, but who are looking for some more could-be-canon angst!

_Varian breathes deep. The city air smells sweet. Sweeter now than it ever had. He forgot how much he missed the smell of flowers, and cupcakes, and new shoes._

_“It’s lovely out here, isn’t it?” Rapunzel voices his thoughts, smiling at him._

_“Beats being in a cell, I’ll give you that.” Varian tries to joke, to fight the lump rising in his throat. “Anything beats Andrew’s all-natural scent, that’s for sure.”_

_She tries to smile too._

_He looks away. He isn’t quite sure how to act around her now. She had forgiven him; they’d saved the kingdom together, even. She hadn’t sent him back to his cell afterwards…not that they’d talked about it._

_Should he pretend like it never happened? That he’s always been just another law-abiding citizen, just the alchemist in Old Corona, that kid who caused a lot of little—well, sometimes big—unintentional mishaps… not the villain who tried to overthrow the kingdom…even if it’s not true?_

_Or should they confront it, admit that he spent the last year in a cell, because he’d done terrible things—that he’d try to kill her, her friends and family?_

_But if they confronted it, admitted it…what would happen? Would that remind her of all the reasons not to trust him, all the reasons she should throw him back into that cell after all?_

_Something moves in the corner of his eye, and he turns to see Old Lady Crowley fluffing out a sheet, giving him the evil eye all the while._

She does that to everyone, _he tells the thing that pangs inside him._

_As they continue their stroll through the city streets, Varian notices she isn’t the only one with less-than-cordial looks for him._

_Feldspar slams his door when they walk by._

_…Maybe he had a shoe-related emergency?_

_There’s a woman who ducks into an alley with her baby, a kid who gasps and gets out of the way._

_He turns again, and Monty is at their side. He is the first to actually speak;_

_“You know, you’ve got some nerve to show your face around here.”_

_Rapunzel taps her foot impatiently. “Well excuuuse me for wanting to—!”_

_“No—though I’ll admit it’s a shocker—not you;” he brandishes his frosting-clad spatula from her to Varian, “him.”—the alleged ‘him’s eyes widen—“Since when are you two all cookies-and-cream again? Didn’t he try to kill you?”_

_“‘Kill’ is a strong word,” Rapunzel tries to laugh, looking away, her smile twisting a little._

_“What word would use for it?” he folds his arms over his chest._

_“Umm…” Rapunzel flicks the frosting her off her dress. “Not ‘kill’ that’s for sure...More like uhh…” She turns to the alchemist, and he doesn’t dare return her gaze, for fear of what he’ll find there._

_“I was just trying to save my dad—”_

_“So you_ didn’t _send a monster into the city?” A woman calls._

_“Uh, well,” he rubs the back of his neck, “that was more of a diversion really—”_

_“A diversion so you could kidnap the Queen!” this is the first raised voice, raised fist, coming from behind him._

_He turns to see they’ve accumulated something of a crowd._

_“Yeah!” another voice speaks from behind them, “How can you let someone like him still walk free?! People have been killed for less!”_

_“Hey, listen!” Rapunzel steps in front of him, “He may have made some misguided decisions, but he’s not some monster! We all make mistakes sometimes!”_

_“_ He _may not be a monster, but what do you call the thing he sent into the city?!”_

_“And how do you explain the automatons?!”_

_“Or how he stole the sun flower!”_

_“From the royal vault no less!”_

_“Or how he hurt the captain?!”_

_“It could have been much worse!”_

_“What if he had killed someone?!”_

_“He needs to be punished!”_

_“Locked up!”_

_“He’s a traitor!”_

_“Yeah, a traitor!”_

_“Traitor!”_

_“Traitor!”_

_“Traitor!”_

“Traitor!” __

_The accusations blend together into some sick smoothie of sound, a dull ringing fault-line._

_The clouds are rolling in too grey, too fast. His whole world is turning monochrome._

_“I can’t believe you let him go, after everything he did to you.” Eugene crosses his arms, glaring at him like he’s the wrong size nose on a wanted poster._

_“Eugene!” Varian tries to move towards him, to plead with him, but he bumps into Lance, whose arms are folded, face set._

_“Where do you think you’re going, little man?”_

_“I just—”_

I need to think. I need to figure this out. To do something. I need to get out of here. I need to find my dad. __

 _“Tch, you know, if it were me,” Cassandra leans against a building, her face half hidden in shadow—_ Where is she now? Why didn’t she come back with them? _— “I’d leave him to rot with the rest of the_ criminals _.”_

_“No, Cassie…”_

_—_ Something is wrong, something is wrong, they just don’t want to tell me _—_

_But, worse than all this, another voice breaks through the throng._

_“Varian…is all this true?”_

_And this voice doesn’t shout. Doesn’t accuse. Doesn’t scorn. It isn’t even angry, just…disappointed. So very disappointed._

_“_ Dad _…” the word falls pitifully to the stones, like a child who dropped his ice cream, and_ I will make you proud _rings through his head like a death knell._

 _At first Varian doesn’t turn to face him, just stands there, staring at the ground, trying to formulate words that will explain what happened, without neutralizing his_ ‘I’m so proud of you’ _that he had given earlier. But words aren’t like numbers, they don’t follow rules, they twist and writhe, and never do what they’re told. So he just stands there, words failing him, mouth hanging open like a creaky door._

_Then he does lift his head, and Quirin isn’t incased in amber. He’s alive, out, and safe, but Varian almost selfishly wishes he was still in the amber, because then he wouldn’t have to bear this look in his father’s eyes, the look that makes him want to shrivel up like a worm in the sun._

_Rapunzel. He has to get back to Rapunzel. Rapunzel won’t judge him. Won’t say he needs to be punished. She forgave him. She’ll explain everything to them._ Rapunzel, Rapunzel give me your strength. Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your defense. __

_Having lost her in the crowd, he casts his gaze, like a fishing line, from one side to the other. He gets a bite; his eyes land upon her, between Xavier and a Pete, her back turned._

_He runs to her._

_“Rapunzel!” he calls, reaching out._

_But the moment he touches her, a stain starts to spread along her hair, like it’s a squid he scared. But the ink spill doesn’t stop; like the best of plagues, it keeps spreading, until she’s nothing but a blotch on the world._

_As the golden strands dim to black they break their bonds, becoming a living thing with tentacles and a bone to pick with the pirates who dared cross its waters._

_She turns to him, and the ink has stained her gaze too; her eyes are nothing but caverns in the surface of her face now; a layer of the sea no one dares enter, for there are things with teeth down there._

_“R-Rapunzel?” his voice isn’t so sure-footed, isn’t so certain it’s the right name._

_She takes a step forward, her bare foot against the stones, and he takes a step back in this dance, because she doesn’t look like she’s going to defend him, in fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was going to attack him too—_

_“_ Wither and decay _” her voice is not the bright, not gentle, not kind. “_ End this destiny _”_

_“Rapunzel—It’s me!” and now his voice is sure, pleading._

_He continues backing up, trying to get away, but he’s bumps into a wall of people, and when he looks up at their leering faces, he sees that their eyes are black too._

_That sends him recoiling back into the center of the circle with the moon-struck sundrop, who continues chanting;_

_“_ Break these Earthly chains _”_

_She doesn’t belong to the sun anymore. She’s a thing of moon and shadow._

_On “chains” her blackened hair, of its own accord, snaps around his arms and torso like he’s the offending ship, and it’ll bend him till he breaks._

_“Rapunzel!_ Please _!” he shouts, “It’s me,_ Varian! _I-I’m your_ friend! _” but the last three words are cracking gasps, because something is infecting his lungs; something very cold is reaching into the center of his chest, a living emptiness, sucking away, feeding off, all the light and life in him. His chest is stinging, aching,_ burning _—_

 _“_ And set the spirit free. _”_

_This is more than just heartache. Decay is eating at his body, corroding it away like acid._

_And the alchemist can do nothing but watch as the black eats him alive; his lungs collapsing in on themselves, like his breath was built on sand—(but it feels like he’s breathing too much)—gripping his heart, digging in like needles—(but it feels like it’s beating too fast)—wrapping around his hands, his feet and unraveling them into strings of lifeless flesh._

_He reaches out with breathless voice and lifeless hands to the only person whose voice never raised throughout this affair, who never insulted him, whose gaze has not been doused in moonless night, the one for whom all this was done:_

_“Dad!_ Dad help me _!” The words are swallowed by the black in his throat._

_Quirin turns away._

_And as it devours him—_

There’s a ceiling above him, a bed below him, a nightlight made of glowing tubes beside him.

He’s still alive—a little too alive; sitting bolt upright in bed, breath heavy and gasping on his chest, sweat dripping down his face, beneath his clothes, as if he really was in some epic sea battle, still able to taste the end of those last words on awake lips. 

It takes a moment for reality to tie its strings around him, pull him back to the ground again, for his breath to deepen, and his mind to clear. For him to realize that this is, in fact, his room, not a city road, or a cell, and he is a fifteen-year-old-boy again; an alchemist, a son, a friend, a kid…not a villain, a criminal, or a prisoner. Not anymore. 

He grimaces, bringing his knees up and hugging them, burying his face in them, like he always did when these sorts of things plagued him in his cell, and he had no dad to run to. He has his dad back to run to now…but he can’t go to him, not anymore, not about this. 

Maybe he isn’t anymore, but he was once; all the things the dreamified versions of his friends accused him of were true. …And his half awake brain wonders if they really thought those things, beneath it all.

He had hoped, if and when he was free from prison, and better yet, forgiven, that he would be free of these villainous dreams too. 

Ruddiger chitters from the bed beside him, pawing at his hand. 

He must have hoped the nightmares would stop too. 

“I’m okay, Ruddiger,” he says softly. “I just—”

Is he? 

Because it isn’t over. Not really. Not enough. 

He had his father back, yes. He was out of prison. Yes. And Rapunzel had forgiven him, and, as, it seemed, did the rest of her gang—( _“Where’s Cass?”_ He’d asked once all the kingdom-saving was over, and he’d scanned the group, and found an empty slot in the lineup. Eugene said they’d tell him later, when everything was more settled…and Varian didn’t much like the sound of that)—Yes. But that didn’t mean everyone else did. 

It didn’t mean the King and Queen did. When their memories were restored, what would they think? What would they do when they saw the kid who kidnapped the Queen, tried to kill their citizens and princess, who they’d locked up, running about? What could he say? 

_Oh, hi, remember me? You know, the kid who kidnapped you and threatened your daughter? The one who sent a monster and a bunch of automatons to cause havoc to your kingdom, and endanger the lives of your subjects? Yeah, that’s me. It’s all good now. Would you like a cookie?_

They didn’t come into the kingdom, or the dungeon, often, so they weren’t liable to notice right away when their memories did return…but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. And when they did…what if they didn’t believe Rapunzel, or him? What if they sent him back to that cell? Would he have to spend the rest of his days sitting with Andrew and his equally-all-natural-scented cronies? Would he grow up with three walls and some bars for a teacher? Never to use alchemy again, never to see his dad again, never to eat a good meal, or smell the flowers, or kiss a girl…

And then there was the question using the back of his mind as a chew toy: _What will dad think?_

Varian would do everything in his power to hide it—sweep the subject under beds and rugs and opportunely-placed cabinets—but he was bound to clean up eventually. 

And… what would Quirin do then? Would he look at him as he had in the dream? Would he take back the _‘I’m proud of you’_ that Varian did all those horrible things just to hear? Would he hate him? Punish him? Kick him out? Send him back to that cell himself?

_Of course he will. How could he ever be proud of you after he learns everything you’ve done?_ His mind taunts. 

He had said as much to Rapunzel. _“If he knew all the things I’d done, well he’d be ashamed.”_

With nothing but walls, bars, and a bunch of separatists for company, he had rehearsed the words he’d say to her so many times in his head. It started with _‘I don’t need your help Princess!’_ to _‘Rapunzel I…Well, it doesn’t matter.’_ then _‘I…I didn’t mean it, you know that, right?’_ then after a few more drafts it became something full of tears and— _‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Rapunzel…I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t mean to hurt anybody…I just wanted to make my dad proud, but I know he won’t be anymore, I know he won’t, I know, I’m such an idiot, I know, I know—‘_ And finally it was what he had actually said—with his heart hammering in his throat.

Her acceptance of his words, of him, had been sheer relief. Saving the kingdom never felt so good. 

Yet at the same time, that idea that Quirin would be ashamed hadn’t changed just because Rapunzel had forgiven him. Just because his father was out of the amber, and Varian was out of prison, didn’t mean everything he’d done to get his father out, everything that had got him _in_ to prison, was erased. He was still going to learn all the things his screw-up-of-a-son did. 

It was bad enough when his experiments failed. When Dad walked in to see acid steaming on the walls, and burns on his son’s forearms. He knew how all-too-often his dad was a having a perfectly pleasant, normal, non-stress-inducing day, when he heard explosions coming from his son’s room. 

And having to tell him was almost always worse. Having to tell him how he may or may not have set the Goslicks prized chicken on fire, and well needless to say it wasn’t going to be so prized anymore… How they’d have to stay with friends for three to five days, because the gas steaming from the lab wasn’t exactly the intended effect...Or why the town’s water supply mysteriously found itself pink and tasting of croissants…Standing there with his insides writhing, awaiting his punishment, or simply having to live with the look of disappointment on his face, was always worse than how it felt to actually make the mistake. 

This was more than a few accidental side effects. This was something he did _on purpose_. Something he actually _deserved_ to be punished for, not just with a reprimand, or a time out, or spanking from his father, but with actual prison time from the king. 

Which would be worse? Dad finding out somehow…or the thought of having to tell him himself?

How would that even go anyways?

_“Well dad, while you were in the amber I…did some stuff.”_

_“Stuff?”_

_“Yeah, stuff…”_ and he’d cough the next few words into his sleeve _“crimes, acts of treason...whatever you wanna call it. You know that sundrop flower everyone always talks about? I may or may not have uhh borrowed it.”_

_“Borrowed?”_

_“Borrowed, stolen, let’s not go into semantics here.”_

_“Wait,”_ he’d wave his hands and put one on his forehead, _“You’re not actually telling me you stole from the king—”_ And he’d stand, all menacing. __

 _“Yeah, you_ might _wanna stay sitting down for this,”_ —Varian would look away, backing up, rubbing the back of his neck nervously— _“it’s a long story, and not exactly the standing-up kind.”_

 _“Varian—”_ He wouldn’t sit down, in fact he’d keep marching towards him.

 _“I-I thought it would help you b-break out of the amber.”_ Varian would stumble in both words and action, and the thought of meeting his eyes would be pure torture. _“I-I thought I could if I could just get my hands on the sundrop I could—”_ —and he’s speaking too fast, too loud now— _“I could…I-I thought…I just…”_ —and then, the next second too slow, too soft— _“I thought…”_ And then the words would trail off, excuses falling limp and lifeless in his mouth as the truth caught up with him.

Even in his rehearsal he couldn’t finish the idea. Couldn’t let his father get a word in edgewise, because if he did…

Either option sounded like an evil mastermind’s best torture plan. Yeah, no matter how many times Quirin taught him it was best to tell the truth, he would never bring himself to say _that_ to _him_.

His father’s pride was all that mattered, the thought of losing it…

He throws his legs over the side of the bed, letting the static in his eyes scatter before standing. He glances out the window at the navy sky injected with orange, but morningless still. 

He grabs his goggles and apron, Ruddiger at his his heels as he heads downstairs to his lab, doing what he always does when he stressed…well, when he’s in any mood really: alchemy. 

It was strange to see this place without the amber. It golden tower had become a permanent decoration, a reminder of how alchemy had failed him, how he had failed his father… a sort of dark promise. 

He and Rapunzel hit reset…yet he couldn’t return to how things were before the storm so easily as she could. 

He pulls on his gloves and goggles, his thoughts still churning.

When Dad found out…would he send him back to prison? The people of Corona could shout all they wanted, but they didn’t have the authority to send him back there. 

But his dad…He could punish him, could turn him in. Varian forgot what it was, but he had once taken one of Quirin’s things and tried to experiment on it…and he quite clearly remembered sitting outside in the rain without dinner that night. What would he do when he learned he’d kidnapped the Queen, sent a monster after the citizens, and automatons after his friends? Dads _should_ punish their kids when they steal cookies, much less kidnap queens and threaten princesses. They should teach their kids to _rescue_ princesses from towers, and damsels in distress, without accepting so much as a kiss as payment, and always abide by, and uphold, the law. 

His eyes fall upon a book on his desk. 

It was funny really. Varian loved the tales of Flynn Rider; this hero who always defeated the villains and saved the day. 

And here he was, the bad guy. Just like the ones who Flynn had to use his wit and sword skills to defeat. 

The baddies’ motives always seemed so ridiculous in the past; taking over the world, leveling cities for the sake of scorned love, destroying kingdoms for the sake of a grudge…

The beaker he’s holding slips from his grasp. Ruddiger catches it with his tail before it hits the ground. 

“Thanks buddy,” he takes it back from him. 

He holds up the beaker his reflection distorted in the glass. 

The villain. 

The word burns like bile at the back of his brain. 

The thought of his dad seeing him like that, not just with disappointment in his eyes, but as a criminal, a traitor, a villain, for all the things he did to save him…

“Varian—”

Varian gasps, fumbling again, but this time he manages to catch it, “Dad! Hey!” he sets the beaker down, turning to him, “Hi! It’s good—good to see you! Good morning!”

Quirin smiles as he walks into the lab, yawning and stretching. “I feel like I’ve been asleep for years.”

“Well, to be fair, you, uhh, almost have.” Varian pulls his goggles onto his head. 

“How long was I asleep for, again?” he asks, considering the center of the room, the place the amber once stood.

“Uhh…ehh—I mean, it’s all kind of a blur—”

—He tries not to think of tallymarks on prison walls. Tries not think of how the hours trickled to days, bled to weeks, oozed into months, until he was spending his fifteenth birthday in a cell...He doesn't want to say the number out loud. It was just a night or two, surely. Just a bad dream. Not real. Not enough time for Varian to do what he did, to become—

His father grunts in response, walking around the lab, looking at all the writings on these walls. The same ones left over from all those months long ago—those months when he would do anything to get him out—collecting dust, and the new ones for the Saporians. Varian sidesteps over to the worst ones, hiding them behind his back. 

“You discover any new elements while I was out?” he asks, half-jokingly. 

“Oh…uhh…” he rubs the back of his neck, chuckling nervously, “N-Nah. I was kinda…uhh…preoccupied…”

Quirin’s expression shifts, the smile fading. He steps up to his son—who stares at him, and for a second, something fearful in Varian wonders if he’s onto him—but then Quirin leans forward and wraps him into a bone-cracking hug. 

Varian’s eyes widen in surprise, but he lifts his arms and returns the gesture, squeezing tightly, smiling.

This was the thing he missed most; not the smell of flowers and cupcakes, not good food, or alchemy, not even Rapunzel’s everlasting smiles….his dad’s hugs. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Quirin sighs, “That must have been very difficult for you,” Quirin murmurs into his ear, “having to make it all on your own.”—Varian’s eyes widen again, but this time it doesn’t turn into a smile— “I’m so sorry you had to go through that…And I’m so proud that you made it through.” He brushes his hand through his hair. 

When he releases him, Varian looks from his father to ground, smiling sheepishly, brushing the hair from his eyes, unsure what to say. 

“I’m here if you ever want to talk about anything.”

“Oh—Yeah—Thanks—Well—”

“Of course—” Quirin clarifies, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m just saying, I’m here if you ever do.”

“Thanks.” He tries to smile. 

There’s an awkward pause, then Quirin turns to leave, “I’ll let you get back to it—”

“Wait, dad,” Varian grabs his arm, “Are you planning on walking through the town today?”

“Why yes. I have been out of commission for a long time, and I really must be getting back to my duties. Become reacquainted with the town, current events, whatnot.”

“Hang on. I should come with you.”

Quirin’s brows furrow, but quickly it turns into a genial smile.

“I’ll meet you up there, I just gotta clean up here first.”

Quirin nods, making his way up the stairs. 

From experience, these sorts of trips around town were pretty boring; mostly discussing how well crops were growing, if anyone needed anything like help finding a lost cat, or working on their house. More often than not Varian’s presence was more of a nuisance than help. Well, he wouldn’t be, if people actually took his alchemical solutions…But people didn’t—or sometimes it was simply his dad who didn’t let him get a word in edgewise, knowing where his “solutions” usually ended up—so usually he stayed home. But in this case, his dad wouldn’t get far on his own, walking out to a deserted, desolated town…And, even if he did find where everyone was on his own…Varian didn’t exactly want people telling him one of the reasons Old Corona was in the shape that it was. Not everyone knew about the battle of Old Corona, as they had already evacuated before then, but he wasn’t about to take his chances. All it took was for one person to tell the truth…

Besides, a father-son-day was much in order.

Varian turns to clean up his work station but does so too quickly, accidentally knocking the beaker to the ground at last, it shattering with a puff of blue smoke, the contents spilling out, his hand hanging uselessly in the air, reaching towards it. 

Ruddiger bounds over to it to help. After they finish, the raccoon sits on his back legs, cocking his head to the side, chittering worriedly.

“It’s okay, buddy.” He smiles. 

The Raccoon still looks worried. 

“ _I_ ’m okay.”

…Is he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Want to vote on how the first scene of next chapter is going to go? I've written a few options for it but am unsure what's most accurate, please help me out by checking out this little [survey thing](https://antihero-writings.tumblr.com/post/616587323519483904/survey-for-ch2-of-what-they-want-to-believe) I made for the next chapter!!**
> 
> Probably no one will believe me, but I actually started writing this before "Be Very Afraid" and my jaw dropped when I saw his dream sequence in there and how similar it was to mine!! I totally wasn't expecting them to do that in canon, and it made me so happy!!
> 
> Comments really do make my week!!  
> (I have a lot of trouble keeping up with multi-chapter fics like this one, and I can guarantee there's much more chance I'll do a better job at continuing this fic if I know people are interested!!)
> 
> Also, I'd love to write more Varian fics in general, so don't hesitate to send prompts to my [writing blog](https://antihero-writings.tumblr.com) if you'd like to read more Varian fics from me!!


	2. The Things He'd Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past Varian sees the damage he caused to Old Corona for the first time after he gets out of prison, while in the present Quirin sees what the storm and rocks did for the first time...and their reactions are not so different. 
> 
> There's more than one definition to the words "ghost town."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Okay, first of all, apologies if anyone got emailed that this was posted twice!! I didn't see it change position on my dashboard so I deleted and reuploaded it, thinking it was a bug...turns out I just needed to set the chapter publication date...) 
> 
> I'm so so sorry this chapter took so long!!  
> Hopefully that fact that it's nice and long makes up for it at least somewhat!!  
> Believe me, I wanted to post it the day after a got all your amazing comments, and immediately started writing after I received them, haha!! But, I'm writing this fic as I go, and it was a long chapter, so it took longer.  
> I would have split this chapter into two, but a) I'm hoping for each chapter to have a memory/dream section, and a present-day section, and I didn't want to split those sections apart, and b) I didn't want to keep you guys waiting for their walk through the town.
> 
> To anyone who partook in the [survey for the first scene](https://antihero-writings.tumblr.com/post/616587323519483904/survey-for-ch2-of-what-they-want-to-believe)\--first of all, a huge thank you!!!--I decided to go with the third option, not because it was my favorite, but because it was the most complete and easiest to edit, and there was no overwhelming winner. I can still change it back to one of the other options later--so you can still vote on them, even now!! Plus, it might be fun for you guys to read how the first scene could have gone differently in general!!--but I just was kind of done with major editing for now, haha...
> 
> The ending, (especially the last scene), was written in a rush, so please keep in mind that might get edited too!! I'll let you know if there are any major changes at the beginning of the next chapter--(there were some minor changes and corrections to the end of the first chapter, by the way, nothing huge).
> 
> I also haven't done a final sweep through it to check for typos, so hopefully if you're early and catch any of those I'll catch them too once i do that XD I just really wanted to post this... 
> 
> Lastly, _Thank you guys so so so so SO much for all your wonderful comments on chapter 1!!!!_ Seriously, this fic got more comments, more quickly, than any other fic I've posted on here, so I, no joke, jumping for joy when I got all your comments.  
> I would never have gotten the next chapter out, even this fast, if it weren't for all your enthusiasm--I don't think I've ever started so quickly on a second chapter of something, haha!! I truly cannot thank you enough <3 <3
> 
> I would deeply appreciate if you could take the time to leave a comment on this chapter too <3 It really does keep me writing things like this to know people are interested in reading more!!

“Are you _sure_ you can erase their memories?” Varian breathed. 

The alchemist stared at the king and queen from the wing, his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Don’t tell me your chickening out on us now,” Andrew groaned. 

“No, no! It’s just—I’m a man of science…I-I’m skeptical by nature.” 

“You told me you were gonna analyze that mineral.” Andrew folded his arms over his chest, “We kinda based our whole plan on it, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, but still, erasing people’s memories…”

“Relax alchemy boy,” Clementine stepped in front of him, walking backwards, “let ol’ Woody here—” apparently that was her name for her wand…and not a good one—“do the talking.” 

She walked backwards into the throne room, then turned and marched straight up to the king and queen, holding the wand behind her back. 

Frederic offered a very confused look, considering he didn’t recognize her, but spoke kindly all the same, “Excuse me, mam,” he cleared his throat, “But the time to make your requests has passed…I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait until tomorrow to—”

“Oh, I don’t think there’ll be any need after you hear what I have to say.”

He looked indignant at the fact that she had just interrupted him, but continued in the same genial tone, if a little sterner. “…I understand what you have to say may be very important, but you must—”

Clementine rolled her eyes and flourished her wand. The gem at the bottom vibrated, pink sparks flying off of it, pink smoke circling it ominously. 

Varian stretched to get a better look. 

“What’s going on?!” Frederic barked from the haze. 

Its power burst across the room in a sphere. Varian shut his eyes against the blast, before looking up at Andrew, who gave him a smug, _what-did-I-tell-you?_ look. 

When he turned back, Clementine had seemingly materialized back in the wing. “You’re up, kid.” 

“Wh-Me? Why me?”

“You’re the one who wanted to erase their memories aren’t you?” Andrew sneered. 

“Yeah, I did but—”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Andrew shoved Varian into the room. 

Varian stared incredulously at him. “How do we know it even worked?”

Andrew made a _go on_ motion. 

As the pink mist cleared, the king and queen stirred, their brows furrowed, and opened their eyes. 

They looked around the room, confusion lining their gazes. 

“Wh-What’s going on?” Frederic looked around. “What is this place? Where am I?” he paused, blinked, “ _Who_ am I?”

Varian’s eyes widened. 

So, it had worked after all. They weren’t crazy. That was…unexpected. 

He’d love to figure out _how_ it worked, but that was a question for later.

He looked up at the king and queen, whose eyes were unknowing as they fell upon him. 

They no longer knew who he was, or what he did, the fact that he had kidnapped the queen and tried to kill their daughter, nor that they had put him in prison for it all. 

….or who _they_ were, for that matter. 

“Excuse me, young man, could you tell us what’s going on?” Frederic looked from him to the room, to the woman he no longer knew was his wife. 

They weren’t going to throw him back in that dungeon. They weren’t going to scold him, or else try to save his soul. They didn’t even suspect something sinister was going on. 

This was freeing; he was untouchable. As long as the king and queen didn’t know who he was, no one else could throw him back in jail, right? He could start anew…

This was unsettling. Seeing his king and queen—no, Rapunzel’s _parents_ —like this made him feel guilty. All those years, gone in an instant; a flash of light, and some smoke…Wasn’t he just committing more treason? A crime for a crime. They always say two wrongs don’t make a right. Even without taking the treason into account, he had already hurt these people enough a year previously; ripping them apart just to put his own family back together. It didn’t have to be this way…did it?

Varian cleared his throat. “Your _majesties_ ,” he said darkly. “I’m afraid you’ve suffered a recent incident which has cost you your memories,” he walked in front of the throne. “You are King Frederic and Queen Arianna of—” 

—Andrew waved vigorously at him to get his attention, and pointed to the medallion on his chest bearing the Saporian logo. Varian sighed.

—“New Saporia. 

“My name is Varian and I am…your most trusted advisor.” He paused for a moment. They didn’t even question it. He continued, “You rule with kindness and fairness, and treat every citizen with respect and dignity.” He bit his lip and looked away, thinking of his own punishment, his own unkindness. “But you see, the people…they too are in dire straights. I think I may have found a mineral which can save your people, and return you your memories. Once I analyze it, I suggest that you gather all your citizens to mine it, until we have enough to solve the situation.” 

The king looked at the queen, and for a second Varian feared they were only playing along until now, that he’d bellow for the guards to grab him and to send him back to prison. 

“If it’s for the good of the people…I suppose I will…make a decree! That’s what kings do, right? I will make a decree right away.”

“…Thank you,” Varian bowed, folding his arms and walking back. 

On his way back to the wing, memories floated up, pieced themselves together, and pierced through his brain.

_“What?_ How _?! How can I trust anything when my own father just_ lied to the king’s face _!”_

Varian grimaced. 

What would Quirin think of him now? Varian had been appalled to know his own father would lie to the king back then…but what would Quirin think if he knew what _Varian_ had done to the king? Last year, and now? Even if he’d lie—(which Varian had come to understand wasn’t even actually a lie, but a code)—Quirin would never do anything like this. He’d never use science and magic on his king and queen just to get what he wanted. He’d never release monsters and automatons on the citizens. No, he’d _help_ people. He’d admit where he was wrong. He wouldn’t run. He’d try to fix what he’d broken…or better yet not break it in the first place.

“A little stale on the delivery but I give you a solid five.” Clementine commented as he returned. 

“I give him ten outta ten” Kai said with his hands over his heart, looking up with tears in his eyes, “His performance was from the heart.”

“That all the proof you needed?” Andrew demanded, not bothering with showmanship. “You said you could synthesize the memory formula into a serum.”

“Yeah, I did, but…” Varian looked away. 

Andrew folded his arms. “…Wh-at?” 

“Well…in order to know what exactly we’re dealing with, and to actually make the serum…I kinda need my lab equipment.”

“They don’t have lab equipment here?”

“…Not unless you count cooking pans.” He shrugged and held up his arms. 

Andrew groaned. “So we need to go _all the way_ to your house in the boonies just to grab a couple of your little science tools?”

Varian winced. “…Yees?” He paused. “I can go by myself—”

“I’m no…uh… staturologist but I don’t think someone of your stature can carry a whole serum’s worth of lab equipment all the way from your house to the castle. I’ll go get a horse,” he groaned, waving him off. “Clementine, you keep an eye on the king and queen, fill them in on anything else they need to know, and make sure they don’t wander off.”

“With pleasure!” she said in a way that made Varian not want to hear the list of things she found pleasurable. 

The alchemist sighed, stepping out into hall to go somewhere to wait for Andrew in peace.

He trudged along, staring at his feet, watching the low moonlight bouncing off the tiles. Soon he found he couldn’t keep his eyes low; his head raised as if pulled on a string. 

Being back in these halls was no small event. 

He’d forgotten the way the sunlight—or in this case moonlight—filtered in through the windows and traced patterns with its fingers gracefully upon the floor. He forgot how everything shone here, in the kingdom of the sun, no matter the darkness that dared to creep in and steal their sunlight. That the rain, wind, and snow never stayed for long. How the people kept their heads up, their smiles firm on their faces, even when things looked down. 

He forgot how much he loved these halls. How much he loved the shimmering tiles, the fuzzy rugs, the flowers displaying their plumage on pedestals. How much he loved the paintings of Rapunzel and her family, smiling together…Even though now they made him feel guilty. 

He forgot it all. He was a thing that belonged trapped beneath these halls now; he didn’t deserve to walk the floors he once cleaned, to read the books he once dusted, and water the flowers, to look at the paintings, or talk to the people anymore. He’d snuck into the workings and stolen the castle’s sunlight…and for that his reward could only be darkness. 

He continued traversing the winding, moonstruck woods of these halls.

Being back here could only made him think of his friends. Of doing Cass’s lady-in-waiting duties with her, of his experiment later that day. Of baking with Eugene. Of sneaking into the vault with Rapunzel, which would have been rather fun if it weren’t for the whole betrayal part.

He wanted that back. He wanted _them_ back. Sitting in that dungeon he had enough time for resolve to flip sides and become regret. 

More than anything else he regretted the relationships he’d severed along the way. Just to clean the floors with them again would have been a blessing. He didn’t ask for something big, he just wanted to talk to them, spend time with them… just to be friends again. Live again. Just be a kid again…Was that too much to ask? 

He wanted them to forget. 

The thought of seeing the anger and hate in their eyes when they looked at him now made his insides contort. He couldn’t bear the way their eyes changed, looked down at him, as he fought them. The way the guards gave him pitying looks when they walked by his cell, as if thinking _he was such a nice boy._

The people of Old Corona were never exactly happy about the way his experiments backfired, so he’d dealt with derisive looks before. Still, that was different. They thought he was dangerous, and a screw up…but least they didn’t look at him like a villain. 

—(Would they now? Did they all know?)—

_“I used you. I’ve_ been _to you and this kingdom for help! Everyone turned their back on me! It has to be this way!”_

Did it? Have to be that way? Did it still, now? Would she forgive him if he simply asked for it?

He wanted to start over. He didn’t want to remember all those awful things he had said and done, much less them to remember. He wanted them to look at him as that sweet, dorky alchemist again. Not as a criminal to be locked up.

Varian found a door and stepped out into the evening air, a breeze brushing through his too-long hair. The moon was high, and full and bright, the stars twinkling as if waving _long-time-no-see_. The air was nothing like the recycled worries of the cell. He always thought liberation would taste something like chocolate. He took a deep breath, for the first time in a long time, feeling like he could truly breathe again. 

Ruddiger climbed onto the railing beside him to get a better look. 

He and inclined his head towards the raccoon. “It’s good to be out, isn’t it buddy?”

He forgot how big it was. The moon. The sky. The world. For the past year his world had been a few feet of stone and metal, his sky a slit in the wall. The moon a friend he’d had to say goodbye to long ago, the stars a fading dream he could never hope to remember. 

As he cast his gaze downwards, the kingdom of Corona sprawled out before him, its own stars twinkling at him from houses, and he smiled in reply. 

He forgot what it felt like to be alive. 

In the cell he was a ghost; once alive, but now neither dead nor living, only unfathomably lost, trapped in a world between heaven, earth and hell, unable to atone for his crimes, nor be forgiven for them. 

Now he was out, reanimated, returned to his body, and maybe he could learn to touch, to feel, to live again. Maybe things could return to the way they were, and life could be good again. _He_ could be good again. Maybe he could be Varian: the sweet, nerdy, alchemist and not Varian, the dangerous villain, who attacked the princess, kidnapped the queen, and tried to overthrow the kingdom. 

Maybe…if everyone else forgot. 

The sound of a horse’s hooves clopping against the pavement signified Andrew was ready for him. He rode up, pulling back on the reigns, smirking as the horses hooves pawed at the air, looking majestic externally as he wasn’t internally. 

“Your ride awaits.”

Varian rolled his eyes, hopping down the stairs and to his chauffer. Andrew threw him onto the horse’s back as he took his hand. 

With a swift kick they were galloping off into the night, down the streets into the peaceful kingdom they both once tried to overthrow…not just once tried, were still trying to even now. 

Would they win? No one had won before, including either of them. Rapunzel and her friends—(of which he once was one)—always took down anyone who dared come against her and her sunlit kingdom. 

Maybe they could succeed, if she didn’t come back. Maybe this was the only time this might work.

He shook his head of the thought. Of course they would win. Varian and Andrew were alone before. Now, with each other’s strengths combined, not to mention the other Saporians, and Rapunzel absent, they would surely succeed. That was why Rapunzel won after all—she wasn’t alone. 

He couldn’t think otherwise. He couldn’t ponder the possibility of another loss, another year in that cell, or more. 

—(Did he really want this? Did he really want to turn Corona into a New Saporia full of people who didn’t remember their own names? Did he really want to turn them into ghosts, just like himself?)—

Varian had only ridden on horseback a few times in his life, and he wouldn’t say it was an altogether non-terrifying experience. However, after spending the last year in a cage, where he could barely move a few feet at all, rushing across the countryside at high speed was thrilling. The cool night air became a living wind tickling his face, the world whipping by him, a kaleidoscope of color, and he wasn’t the least bit afraid. In fact, he might even say he was enjoying it. 

Freedom was what people called it. He might just be beginning to understand the word—in a you-don’t-know-what-you-have-until-you’ve-lost-it kind of way.

As they passed by the city, a few windows flickered gold. Varian was glad it was evening; this would have been a lot more difficult during the day, what with all the people who once fought his monster and automatons milling about, wondering why he was out. 

They galloped across the bridge, the waves glittering gently in the low light. 

He missed the view. He missed the waters he once rode boats across, he missed the city he once had adventures in, ate candy and bought souvenirs in, he missed the sun he once played under, the stars he once gazed at, the people he once called a friends…he missed the sun-struck world he once belonged to. 

Old Corona soon came into view, its trees and hills reaching towards the sky, and Andrew slowed down. 

The difference between old and new was stark, almost as if this really was “Old Corona”—as in, a Corona that fell eons ago, a Corona that people had to move away from because it was nothing but a broken shell now, and there were newer, better lands to attend to. A Corona that was left behind, not counted as part of the kingdom anymore, that people would enter and ask each other _“What happened here?”_

The world bled to monochrome as they crossed the threshold; everything desolate, crumbling, left behind, and uncared for. 

The black rocks had subsided since Varian last saw the place, but the wreckage they left was still astounding—one can pull the arrow out of their chest, but it will still leave a bleeding hole. 

It was strange to see; houses with bites taken out of them, others hanging on rocks like stakes, cracks in the ground, smashed vases, pots and pans, flowers and toys, all lying about as if they hadn’t had a second to spare when the beast came through here.

Broken. It looked broken. 

Haunted, like it was frozen in time, and the ghosts still living in that time would float in and out of the woodwork before long.

_Was_ it? Was he still that ghost? Returning home after all that time, still trapped in a moment, unable to find redemption unless everyone forgot the incident that made them all wanderers?

“Uhh Varian…are you sure this is the right place?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know where my own house is?”

“I mean… Is it _supposed_ to look like this? …Are you sure they didn’t do some…um… redecorating while you were gone?”

Varian bit his lip. 

The rocks may have done most of the damage, but he hated to think the other head decorator was—

_Did_ I _do this?_

He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten just how much damage he’d done. Or else he’d tried to block it out. Or maybe he never entirely knew, because he was too busy, well, doing the destroying, his eyes blurred by pain and hate. 

But seeing the state things were in now was like having a bucket of ice water being thrown on his sleeping face. 

The devastation was left behind, even after a year of sitting in prison. He had half-expected the king to order it fixed, for him to return to a bustling town, to not have to face, to remember, how much harm he’d done. Was it selfish of him not to want to see it? 

But, without Quirin to ask for it, Old Corona was forgotten, left in shambles. His actions didn’t just wash away in the rain. They couldn’t just get another color and cover it. It didn’t get magically fixed. It was still here. And now they all were left to live with it…

Seeing it still like this, even after a year, was worse than having to deal with the looks on people’s faces, worse than seeing it last time, worse than seeing it in his dreams. 

He was the leader’s son. He could have stepped up to the plate when his father was out of commission. He could have gathered everyone together, told them they were going to fix the place after the storm, rallied them, brought them back to restore the their home. He could have used his alchemy to fix things himself, instead of breaking them further. That would have made his father proud. Quirin would have come home to find his once screw-up of a son had taken up the mantle of leadership and responsibility. Imagining the look of pride on his face for such actions made his insides writhe with guilt. 

Instead he’d made everything worse. 

Varian’s experiments had gone awry many times before; it wasn’t the first time he’d left a mark on the town. Rapunzel herself had seen how, when he tried to bring people hot water, he made the town, you know…blow up, instead. 

But he always meant well, and everything always got fixed. His dad made sure of that. He was the leader’s son, and his dad would tell everyone what steps they needed to take to fix it, or they he and Varian would fix it themselves. He didn’t have to see the cracks and burns in the walls months later. There was always redemption to be had—and these weren’t sins, just accidents. 

But this time was different. This wasn’t a mistake, a side effect, or an accident. Before, any potential damage had always been his fear. He cared a lot about how much his experiments hurt people, as that was the exact opposite of his intent—he wanted them to _help_ , to make life easier and better for everyone. This time he’d destroyed his own world, and he hadn’t cared about the wreckage…in fact, that was one of the intended effects of the formula. He only cared about his goals, saving his dad, and stopped concerning himself with how much injury it caused anyone else—mentally or physically. And afterwards, his dad wasn’t there to clean it up, to explain what had gone wrong, to grant him redemption…as well as scold him. That was the point. When his experiments hurt his dad something in him switched, suddenly allowing him to cross lines he would never think to cross before. This time it was a sin, enough to send him to prison. 

—(Was that one of the reasons why he wanted his dad back? So he could forgive him?)—

What would his dad think when he walked out of his house now? When he saw the town he loved and led, a shattered mirror of itself, half due to his own son’s insolence? Not just a little rogue experiment, an uncalculated percentage…but a real catastrophe. 

How would he _tell_ his dad that _he_ was the cause of it? Or, at least some of it? He couldn’t, surely.

Or, worse…would he simply find out somehow? What would he say then? Far less than not being proud of him…his brain rifled through all the things he could say and do, that might happen when he learned. No matter if he scolded him, or kicked him out—both were strong contenders—there was no doubt he’d be ashamed. 

…And he was still doing shameful things. He was going to tear apart his world even more, to try to fix the damage he’d already done. 

_No… this time it’s different._ He assured himself. 

That’s right. This time he’d only be wiping their minds. The world would stay in tact. And he wouldn’t be destroying, but erasing. And erasing was the same as fixing, right? No, it was _better_ than fixing, because it meant nothing was broken in the first place. 

…Nothing would be there at all.

(Would it make things easier if he wiped his own mind too?)

Soon his mansion came into view. It looked like that monster attacked it too; took a bite out of the roof, tried to climb the wall, scratching the stones. 

Perhaps one did. 

“Here,” he spoke before they reached it. 

“ _Here_?”

“Here.”

Andrew slowed the horse to a halt. Varian hopped off and took a few steps forward. As Andrew walked off to tie the horse to a tree nearby, Varian took a deep breath, knowing what he was about to come across. 

As he walked forward he saw, along the road, a number of automatons laying beaten, dismembered, impaled, and rusting, amongst a swath of black rocks. 

Less rocks than before, still, there were more here than anywhere else around—and of course, one couldn’t forget the trail of them leading outside the wall—(they had repaired _that_ in his absence). But for whatever reason, they hadn’t bothered to pick up the automatons. He had hoped they’d at least clean them up. No, they were left sitting there like an unfinished sentence.

The aftermath of a battle. Though not one the bards would sing of. And if he had his way…no one would even so much as talk about it. 

Andrew came up behind him.

“What… _did_ all this?” he breathed.

Varian paused, the breeze tickling his nose, running through his hair. He took a deep breath and answered softly, wishing the wind would carry his next words far away. 

“…I did.” 

Andrew’s eyes widened. “Wh-” he glanced from the automatons, to the ruined houses, to the small boy beside him, “ _You_?”

“Well, not _all_ of it, but, I told you my whole sob story, didn’t I?”

“You must have left out the part about making these—these—what even are they? Metal death machines?!”

“Automatons. And, I distinctly remember telling you about them. I went on about them for a while, actually. Maybe you weren’t listening.” 

“Oh yeah…I stopped listening after you started writing equations on the walls.”

Varian rolled his eyes. 

The Saporian put his hand on Varian’s shoulder, and said in an almost proud way, “I _wildly_ underestimated you.”

“Most people do,” the words were barely audible as he brushed his hand away, venturing through the black and metal sea to his house. 

As he came to the automatons he clenched his hands into fists and picked up the pace, not wanting to look at them—to face what he’d made, what he’d done, what he’d broken—until he was running, his eyes shut tight against the tears trying to crawl their way through. 

“Hey, what’s the rush?!”

He shoved open the door—the rusty hinges resisting his advances—and walked inside. As he did, he slowed, taking a few deep breaths, looking around. 

It was strange to be back here, after all that time. The place wasn’t the same somehow…Or maybe _he_ wasn’t. 

Prison was not a home, and he never would have called it so. It was not the place he returned to after a long day; to a warm fire and the books and the curl up by. It was not where he ate warm soup, and had sweet dreams. It was not even the place he lived. It was a place where he continued existing. That was all. And that was its purpose; to make criminals continue existing, without living. Shivering without a blanket, eating without taste, sitting there with nothing to keep his mind occupied, cradled to sleep by nightmares. 

After spending each day and night trapped in a place that was neither home nor away, wishing just for one night in his own bed, one day to spend in his lab…returning to home wasn’t the breath of fresh air as he thought it would be. 

There was a comforting aspect to it, but walking the stone halls, the ones he scurried around since he was two years old, with his dad chasing after him…he remembered how empty this place was now. How empty he felt when he was alone here. How that emptiness gnawed at him until it animated his anger and hate, molded into puppets, and came alive.

There was no fire in the living room, the books sat dormant, catching dust on their shelves. No smell of soothing soup wafted from the kitchen. No one slept soundly and peacefully in the bedrooms. 

He could call _Dad, I’m home!_ through these halls, wishing for a soldier’s welcome. And his dad _was_ there, but he was a ghost who couldn’t wander, frozen in a time before the storm, before he even left—before the broken promise, the automatons, and the cell—unable to call back, or even smile. 

Sometimes he envied him, in a way. He sometimes wished he could sleep through all this. And he _would_ have been the one trapped if Quirin hadn’t pushed him away. 

Maybe that would have been better. Maybe less people would have gotten hurt. 

What lengths would Quirin have gone to to save him from the amber? Would he have committed the same atrocities just to get him out?

Surely not. His dad was a good person. He wouldn’t betray his king, kidnap his queen, use his friends as pawns. He could handle a little emptiness. He’d wait calmly until all this worked itself out, surely.

The only good thing about the amber was that Quirin didn’t have to see all the things he had done. Didn’t have to decide to visit his son in prison, demand why he did it, and Varian didn’t have to see the disappointment in his eyes. 

…But…what would happen when he got out? Wasn’t it inevitable that he’d find out? Would Varian have to _tell_ him?

Or, worse yet…a horrible idea crept into his brain; what if he somehow _had_ gotten out already, and never told him? What if his dad _was_ awake somewhere already, aware of all Varian had done, and didn’t even bother coming to see him? 

His heart hammered in his chest as he walked up the stairs. 

For so long he yearned to just to be back here, but now that he was, he wanted more than anything to be back sitting in that cell. Because the cell may have been a cage, it may have made a ghost of him, but at least it didn’t claw at his chest like this place did. 

He took a deep breath before pushing open the door to his lab. 

Even after all this time it still had that undeniable chemical smell, some of the solutions had burst, rotted, or corroded the desk. It was comforting to Varian, in a way, that everything was where he left it, waiting for him. 

But there was another sight that was a spell, freezing him in place. His eyes widened, his breath faltered. 

How long had it been? How long had he last seen that golden castle, with its jagged parapets and its spiked turrets? How long had his father been trapped in this tower like a princess in a fairy tale, with no prince to rescue him?

He’d counted those tallymarks on the walls a thousand times, but now the number slipped his mind. 

He walked into the room, the tower growing taller and more foreboding with each inch closer, each step the slow, agonizing tick of a time bomb, counting down to self detonation. 

When was it? It was sometime over year ago when he’d started to hate the color gold. 

Everyone liked gold. People hated yellow for being too cheerful, and people hated orange for being too garish, but people didn’t hate gold. How could you hate gold when it was the color of treasure, and honey, and the sun? 

He loved it once. When he was a child, watching it dance on the water. Staring up at the Corona symbols and sunlight. When he read Flynn Rider’s tales of riches. When he met Rapunzel.

Back then, it was the color of friendship, and riches and summer.

It was sometime over the last year when the color started taunting him. 

The color waved itself in front of his face like an enemy flag, like a treat he couldn’t have, like a safe he needed to break open. Gold teased him. 

It sat in his lab, always looking over his shoulder at his work, snorting derisively that he’d never win; it would always hold his father captive. 

It lay beneath the city, scoffing that he would never reach it. Promising it could save him if he did. 

It bounced around with her friends, smiling happily, never coming to check that he was okay. 

The color of the amber. The color of the flower. The color of her hair. 

Back then, he’d craved and cried to break them all open and get to what they were made of. 

He could break open grey, and pink, and green, and blue, but it was gold that wouldn’t budge. Wouldn’t strain, no matter how much it bent. Gold trickled inside him and gilded all his worst emotions, making his heart heavy, and malleable. Until he was made from the same stuff he couldn’t decipher, the same stuff that refused to break. Until he was sitting in a cell, clutching his golden chest, aching as it corroded away, revealing the lead that was beneath it. He missed being made of human things. 

He wondered if Midas hated the color gold too.

Looking up at the amber now he remembered. That hatred came flooding back into his veins, and he remembered his heart was heavy after all. 

He remembered how it sat there in the room with him as he tried to create a solution to release his father. As emotion became truth. As he welded the automatons. It judged him, his father over his shoulder at every moment, watching his every move as he took the test of life. And he’d whisper quietly to his aching heart, this looming not-so-happily-ever after, _I’m working on it_. 

Was he still awake in there? Could he see all he did? When he got out, would he know every formula, every failed test and experiment? Every hateful cry? Every villainous action? All those words he regretted breathing into the air, each day and night?

He remembered how much he hated being with it everyday, how it was the the thing frozen within the emptiness that animated his anger. 

He remembered how he dreamed of that flower, his hope locked in the vault, knowing it would surely save him, surely, if he could _just_ reach it.

Then, when he risked everything to get it, how it had sat limp and useless on his desk, mocking: _You risked everything to get me, you betrayed your friends, and what did I get you? Nothing. Dust on your desk._

He remembered how she had tried so hard to evade him, to team up with her friends to take him down, how gold rushed through her head and did nothing to break its kin. 

He remembered how much he hated watching her hugging her parents, safe, knowing nothing of this emptiness, and how it was scratching at his chest, demanding he blame someone else. 

…But it wasn’t her he was blaming when he said it was all her fault. Not really. It was the gold on her head that wouldn’t break for him. 

He’d forgotten for too long. In that cell he may have been a ghost… but at least he wasn’t a villain anymore. Without the emptiness gilding his worst emotions, they ebbed away and he was left with shame. 

Now, within the emptiness again, those vile emotions that once created those machinations, and turned him into a monster were flooding back to him as waves, threatening to overtake him. 

But there were no tears this time. No grand show of pain or injustice. Varian didn’t break open himself before the color. Didn’t sing how he’d make his father proud one day. 

He knew it wasn’t going to happen. 

He just stared, his eyes glazed as forgotten gold flooded them, staring at a time far from now. Two specters of yesterday staring at each other across the way. 

Andrew’s steps and panting sounded off up the stairs. 

“You could have waited for me, you know—!” 

But he interrupted himself at the sight of the amber, pausing, staring, wide-eyed and awestruck.

“Is that your—?” he looked at the boy, his eyes and voice softening, “Oh Varian I…” his hand came lightly to his mouth. “I didn’t know…” 

When he didn’t answer he asked—“…Varian?”—and there was something faltering in his voice, like after seeing all this boy did, and what he did it for, made him see him differently too. 

“…You know I’d almost forgotten what it looked like.” Varian’s voice was low, and dangerous, and almost mad. “Strange…when I see it in my dreams every night.”

Andrew lifted his hand shakily and put it on his shoulder, “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”

Varian didn’t brush him off this time. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t give any sign he was more than a ghost.

“Hey, look at me.” 

Varian did so. His head turning slowly, as if he were an automaton himself. 

“We are gonna make them pay.” Andrew’s words and expression were set. 

Varian blinked, shaking his head a little, at last, returning to today. 

Once he was back in this time, he remembered todays goals, todays regrets, todays guilt, and his emotions altered their courses. And he remembered that he was not that villain sitting in the emptiness trying to break open the gold, but instead a boy who had sat in a cell for a year, wishing only to be free, only to see his friends again, and now only wanted his friends to forget so he wouldn’t have to feel this guilt anymore. 

“We are gonna make the people who did this to your dad pay.” Andrew repeated fervently. 

_—But_ I _did this to him—_

“Everyone who turned their back on your father…we’re not gonna let them get away with this. We’re gonna make them all forget, okay?”

_…It’s not what_ they _did to_ me. 

Varian’s eyes lidded. He curled his fingers into a fist, and nodded. 

* * *

When Varian exits the house his dad is standing some ways away, like a stone statue of a once-admired leader still presiding over his abandoned town.

The alchemist pauses too, a few steps behind him, something tuning his heartstrings, making them play a faster beat. 

Is it excitement that plays this song? Is he excited to be out with his dad at long last? After waiting so long just to talk to him, is he excited to spend the day with him? 

Or…is it fear that slows his steps? And if so, fear for, or of, what?

Fear for what his father is going to say? For how he’s going to react? For how he himself is going to explain this? For what everyone else will say? 

Dread for the future, for not being able to escape the past? Of the implications of no one forgetting? 

But he shouldn’t be afraid or dreading anything. He should be happy to have his dad back.

Is it something else?

This is the day he’s been waiting for for so long—too long. This shouldn’t make him nervous, shouldn’t be hard, shouldn’t make his heart hammer against his ribs like it’s trying to escape their tyranny. 

Varian takes a deep breath— _It’s okay, you got this_ —puts one foot in front of the other, and walks up to him. 

He pauses to look at the same view that struck his dad stiff—(and him too when he first saw it); the desolate, monochromatic landscape, the destroyed houses, the broken ground, pushing his hair behind his ear. 

“Where…is everyone?” Varian isn’t sure if he’s asking him or the air. Then, in the same tone, “…Did the storm do this?”

Ahh, the storm. 

It’s like the opposite of nostalgia. A faded scar on his mind from a wound that took him more than weeks to recover from. The word is a dull ache in him like rust on his soul, like something that froze over back then, in that storm, and never quite thawed. 

So long ago…Yet for Quirin it was only yesterday, just a question about an occurrence that can’t possibly be a scar, an ache, a subject to avoid, it’s simply something we must talk about, for the aftermath is still happening now. 

Is that what’s making his heart hammer so? How strange it feels that yesterday for his dad was a year ago for him?

His son kicks the ground.

“Or” Quirin murmurs, still not looking at him, “was it the rocks?”

Varian pauses before answering. “…Some of it.”

It’s more than just him being away for so long—(but he wasn’t away, was he? That was the worst part. For too long he was so close, but unable to touch, to speak a word, trapped in different worlds. Quirin within a prison of amber, Varian in that of emotion, both made of gold. Having his dad back, making him proud, was all he wanted—(the emptiness told him so)—so he was sure when he was freed everything would simply fall back into place—be as it was before. 

Yet…it _wasn’t_ before. It _couldn’t_ be. Not for him. He couldn’t just forget what had happened, unless he used magical means. 

And that was what was so scary about this too; everyone else who remembered. 

Was that what was making his heart beat like this? Was he afraid someone else would tell his father, and if so, who, and how? Was that why he was nervous to go back and see the people of Old Corona? He hadn’t seen any of them for a year, never made an effort to check on them, make sure they were okay—(though, granted, they hadn’t done the same for him either). These were the people he grew up around, yet he hadn’t bothered to even talk to them. 

None of them had been there during the battle…but did they know? Surely the news of his betrayal would fly fast and far. Surely someone in Corona proper would tell them. And from there, would they tell his dad? Would he walk into makeshift old Corona to a mad riot? 

He tried to rid his mind of the thought, to tell himself they wouldn’t know, nor tell him, but his heart wouldn’t stop… 

He lost track of how long they just stood there, Quirin breathing in the fact that the town he once loved and led was reduced to a pile of abandoned debris, Varian shifting his feet, wondering what to say, if he should say anything at all. 

Quirin takes a step forward, but before he can learn anything more Varian takes his arm.

“Come on,” he pulls him away from the view, “I’ll show you where everyone is.” Then adds, “They’re all okay! Thanks to that new land you got them.” 

Quirin allows his son to lead him, though continues to glance back. 

That too was strange to think about: that asking the king for more land was only yesterday to his father, while everyone else had spent over a year on said land. While Varian was alone in the town, in his lab, the sound of his hammering the only sign of life in the desolate landscape.

It had taken Varian a good portion of that year to realize that Quirin hadn’t lied to the king after all; it was code to keep people from panicking. Both his father and the king knew about the black rocks and tried to keep it a secret. What Quirin did know, and how he knew, he never told Varian, but it became clear that he understood more then he was letting on. 

Varian had barely visited the interim Old Corona in his time after the storm, but he at least knew where it was, which was more than Quirin knew. 

They walk along to the patch of land that the citizens of Old Corona had inhabited for the better part of this year, Quirin still wrapping his head around the current situation; the fact that he woke up expecting to deal with the damage of a storm…and instead dealing with much worse, every once and a while putting his hand to his mouth in shock. 

The area definitely wasn’t as accommodating as Old Corona, but it got the job done. A year was enough time to get some makeshift houses for the meantime. 

There are a few people milling about, but the moment they saw Varian and Quirin, they gasp, drop whatever they’re doing, and scramble up to them. 

All it took was a blink before they are surrounded by people shouting Quirin’s name and _“You’re back!”_ on repeat, jumping up and down—either out of joy, or to get a better look—beaming, bombarding him with questions. 

Some are asking where he’d been, others how he got out of the amber, others what they were going to do now, the rest relaying information to each other—(“The amber?” “Yes the amber you dimwit!” “What? How does a person get trapped in amber?” “His sons an alchemist, remember?” “Yeah but how does a person—”)—

“Thanks to my son”—he puts his hand on Varian’s shoulder—“and the princess Rapunzel, I have been released from the amber, and am ready to return to my duties.” He chuckles a little. “I apologize for being away for so long.”

They cheer and sigh, a few people even come up to Varian to shake his hand and thank him for bringing him back—He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck, muttering, “Oh, I didn’t do much…You know it was really the princess who did most of the saving—” 

Why are they treating him like a hero? He came out here fearing that someone would know, that they would hate him, or else expose him to his dad, but it seemed they barely understood the basics of what happened. Did none of them know the lengths he had gone to release his dad from the amber? Did none of them know about the battle that had ensued? Surely at least one of them would have gone to Corona proper and heard the news from a friend. 

But that didn’t exactly settle the matter. They continued to ask more questions, and make requests. 

“You were gone for so long, we didn’t know what to do!” the continued asking. 

“Do you think you’ll move here, or—?”

“Will we get back to Old Corona?” 

“Yeah will we move back?”

Quirin has them raise their hands to create some semblance of order, and as this doesn’t seem to be reaching its end anytime soon, Varian sits at a nearby bench, listening calmly to all the commotion, only returning to the center of the circle to answer the questions his father doesn’t know the answer to. He just enjoys hearing his dad’s voice again, being with people again, like a functional human being. 

After a little while an old woman breaks off from the group to walk up to Varian. 

“Thanks sonny for bringing our leader back.” He recognizes her as the sweet old lady who lived a few houses down from them. She was one of the few people who didn’t get fed up with his experiments...but maybe that was because her memory was…not the best.

“Oh, it’s no problem.” He wrings his hands. “Like I said, it was nothing. _Really_.”

“Don’t sell yourself short Varitas!”

“Um, Varian.”

“Without you we couldn’t possibly have gotten our leader back! It was one of yer little watchamawhodinkas them there that saved him wasn’t it?”

“Well mostly it was Rapun—”

“I knew it,” she speaks like he’d answered, “Of course, he is your father, so it’s only natural you’d do everything to save him.” She pauses a moment, folding her hands together on her walking stick, looking down, shaking her head solemnly. “It must have been so difficult for you; cooped up in that demolished old place, with no one to talk to, for a whole year. It just breaks my heart.” She puts her hand to her heart for good measure. “You should have come to us, we would have sent someone!” She whacks him with her cane. 

He rubs his behind, muttering “ow” before stammering, “Oh I…I—”

“Well, just promise to say something next time, alright sonny?”

He gives a sad little smile. “Okay, I’ll try.” 

_I’m hoping there won’t be a next time._

He was expecting the worst but…maybe things are going to be okay. Maybe no one truly knows after all. Maybe he could breathe easy and just spend some quality time with his dad. 

“Oh!” she turns around, “And I was wondering if I heard right…I heard someone say you made some …whawuzzit…uhtomeetans?”—Varian jumps up—“I don’t know what that is, but they seemed in a right state about it. Oh yeah and wasn’t there some plan about a…forgetfulness potion? Boy it’d explain a lot if I’d been given a forgetfulness potion…”

“Nope!” he calls back, sweating profusely. “No, that was aaall just a rumor! A silly misunderstanding really.” He tries to laugh. 

“Oh goodie. I was real concerned for a second there. But I knew our boy’s watchamahoodinkas could be dangerous at times, but you’d never do anything like that on purpose. Keep up the good work, Varitas!” she calls as she walks away.

“It’s Vari—nevermind.”

When he turned he saw Quirin was there. 

“Oh! Dad! hi! You’re here!” he says too loud and enthusiastically, “What’s up? What is haaappenin’?” He tries to rest his hand on the bench in a casual way—but it probably looked like the most un-casual thing anyone had ever seen. 

“Well, the others and I”—he points his thumb behind him at a group of older citizens—“were thinking of going back to Old Corona and assessing what we need to do to rebuild.”

“Oh, yes, great, great idea,” he says, not really listening, then, “Wait, what?”

“Well seeing as people want to go back home, we need to figure out how much damage was done, in order to know what to fix, and move forward.”

“Wouldn’t you like to, you know, take it easy? It _is_ your first day back.”

“These people have been waiting for me for far too long, it’s my duty to help them.”

“Sure, sure…” he bites his lip. 

“You’re welcome to come with, if you like.”

Let’s see, spending the rest of the morning walking around the town he destroyed, assessing said damage, and what they had to do to fix it, he wasn’t sure that sounded like the most appealing thing to him at the moment. 

“No, no, you go on ahead. You don’t need me for that. All see you back home.”

Quirin shrugged. 

Varian watches as his father walk back into the Old Corona with a few of the others, trying not to worry about the things they might see, the things the others might tell him, and headed back to his house. 

* * *

Quirin heads home after he finishes assessing the town with the others, sighing. 

It's… strange. For him it felt like he’d had a really great night’s sleep and woke up the next morning. But everyone else acted like he’d been gone for a long time. …And the jarring truth was he _had been_. It wasn’t long before he learned he had had been out for a full year. 

A year. How was that possible? The storm surely happened just yesterday. But, here outside the amber, people had been on the land he’d gotten them for a while, already having built houses there. Here Old Corona was, after what felt like a night’s rest, a desolate excuse for what it once was. 

He knew this was coming; the rocks couldn’t be stopped. He’d watched another king try and fail before. Hence why he warned Varian not to mess with them, and why horror had shot through him when he saw he still had. He had asked this king for new land knowing there was no way to truly stop them, that the best they could do was get away. 

And this had helped them indeed—it could have been the only thing that saved them, if the rocks were what did this. 

But he thought he would be there, watch as it happened, that he, knowing about the rocks’ true origin, could guide everyone more safely. Waking up and finding the damage was all already done, and he couldn’t do a thing to help…

He tries to focus on the now. He couldn’t do anything about the past. That’s why it's extra important to help as much as he could now.

…He wouldn’t say it aloud, but it's all a bit overwhelming.

As he ventures back, sighing at the gloomy landscape—(he half wishes he could just close his eyes and see it all better when he woke up)—his eyes catch sight of something on the ground near his house. He squints, walking up to it. 

It appears to be a piece of something metal. A part of a larger whole, apparently. This isn't exactly strange, there are a lot of broken pieces of things around the town now. 

But what does it go to? A pipe or house in the wreckage? He’d like to return it to its place. As he picks up, examining it, trying to discern what it could have come from, who or what to return it to, he glances up and sees another fragment a little way off. This one is a cracked, green, glass circle in a gold metal frame. He picks it up too, examining it, turning it, and looks around. Sure enough there's another piece, though this is the strangest yet: it looks like a cylinder from a music box, but it's broken, and much larger than a music box ought to be…

He holds them all in his hands, observing them, wondering.

They don't look like they went to a house or structure, or anything he knows.

He may not know what they're a part of, but he doesn't have to think long to draw the conclusion:

This has something to do with Varian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to have someone privately confront him on their walk through the town, but I made [a post](https://i-prefer-the-term-antihero.tumblr.com/post/614808709983584256/i-have-a-couple-of-clarifying-questions-so-in) asking who from Old Corona was present at the battle, (so I'd know who specifically to use), but people said no one was...so that threw a huge wrench into my plans. Once again, if you guys would really much rather have that, I can still edit that back in and have someone know somehow! But I'm trying to be accurate and it seemed more accurate not to have someone confront him, even though I know it does make that scene more disappointing...
> 
> Apologies if there are any mistakes in the tense-switch...I'm more used to writing in past tense, and after having a long past tense section I might have accidentally not switched some present tense verbs...
> 
> That section about the color gold was by far my favorite part of this chapter to write. It actually was inspired by that line "He wondered if Midas hated the color gold too"--well, a version of it. The line "Do you think Midas hated the color gold?" randomly came to me one day, and I really really liked it. I wanted to write an original piece about that idea but never got around to it--(though I'd still love to if people are interested!!)--and that theme ended up working its way into this fic, and I'm quite proud of it!! (Listening to the song "The Alchemist" by Nathan Wagner a lot recently probably helped too, haha!!)
> 
> I've been contemplating writing a companion piece to this chapter, where Andrew comforts Varian in their cell after he has a nightmare. I decided to just focus on the chapter for now, but what do you guys think? Would you like to read that?

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in reading more Tangled fics? Please don't hesitate to check out my other fics! <3:  
> [Stolen Sunlight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23971132/chapters/57655978) is a Varian and Arianna fic about Arianna coming to see him in prison, and learning to forgive him.  
> [Her Missing Reflection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404929) is a Vampire Rapunzel AU I wrote for the Tangledtober2018 prompt "mirror" which puts a different spin on the original movie!  
> [The Weight of the Wait](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150965) is a short ficlet i wrote for the Inktober2019 prompt "ring", delving into Eugene's internal monologue about proposing to Rapunzel.
> 
> Once again, comments really do make my week!!  
> (As I said, I have a lot of trouble keeping up with multi-chapter fics like this one, and I can guarantee there's much more chance I'll do a better job at continuing this fic if I know people are interested!!)
> 
> Also, I'd love to write more Varian fics in general, so don't hesitate to send prompts to my [writing blog](https://antihero-writings.tumblr.com) if you'd like to read more Varian fics from me!!


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